Chapter 32 Todd
THIRTY-TWO
TODD
Peter’s voice is the first real sound I’ve heard in days.
With the exception of the voicemails my sisters left me, which I didn’t return.
They just followed them up with text messages, both of them clearly on my side and pissed at Dad.
But I didn’t want to mess up my whole family, so I didn’t reply. I can’t.
“Jesus, Shawsy.”
I blink up from where I’ve been sitting on the edge of my bed, hoodie pulled over my head, a week’s worth of takeout boxes cluttering the desk. My laptop’s open to the same paused hockey replay I’ve been staring at for an hour, though I couldn’t tell him who’s winning if I tried.
Peter’s standing in the doorway, duffel still slung over his shoulder, his eyes sweeping the room like he’s not sure what he’s walked into.
“You look like you fought the flu and lost,” he says finally, setting the bag down on his bed.
“Something like that,” I mutter, rubbing my palms over my face. I know what I look like—unshaven, hollow-eyed, still wearing the same sweats I threw on days ago.
He crosses his arms. “You haven’t been answering your phone. We all thought you were dead or in a ditch.”
I shrug. “Didn’t really feel like talking.”
He studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “Yeah, no shit.”
The mattress dips when he sits beside me. “You gonna shower, or do I need to call in backup?”
“Backup?”
He pulls his phone out, thumb already hovering over the screen.
“Peter,” I warn, but he’s already typing.
“Too late. You had your pity party; now it’s time for an intervention.”
I groan, leaning back against the wall, but there’s no stopping him once he’s made up his mind. Fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock at the door—and then Daniel, Luke, and Eli file in like they own the place.
Luke’s the first to speak. “Holy shit, it smells like depression, dirty pits, and Doritos in here.”
“Thanks, Luke,” I say flatly.
He tosses a bag of chips onto my desk and grins. “Anytime, and now for our team meeting. We voted, we’re all still idiots, and we all still like you.”
I arch a brow. “Luke, you’re on the football team, not the hockey team.”
“Details,” he says, unbothered. “Gays unite. Besides, you hockey heathens need better PR anyway.”
Peter snorts. “Pretty sure you’re not qualified for that.”
“Sure I am.” Luke rips open the chips. “Step one: don’t let the internet make you forget who you are. Step two: carbs. Step three: call your boyfriend and make things right, because if you’re sulking like this, I assume he probably is too.”
He holds the bag out like he’s solved world peace. Daniel groans. Eli just shakes his head, smiling faintly.
I laugh under my breath, but it comes out cracked at the edges. “Yeah, because calling him right now would fix everything.”
Luke shrugs, already crunching through a mouthful of chips. “Worked for me once, when I thought I was in love… Spoiler alert, I wasn’t. That shit is obviously not for me.”
“Your solution to everything is reckless chaos,” Daniel mutters.
“Reckless chaos gets results,” Luke fires back.
Eli steps forward then, cutting through the noise without raising his voice. “You know… last year, when Coach found out about me and Max, I thought we’d ruined everything too.”
The room goes still. Even Luke stops chewing.
Eli leans against the dresser, arms crossed loosely, gaze steady on me. “We didn’t mean for anyone to know. It wasn’t public, and we kept it a secret here, until I took him home for Christmas and Coach was vacationing in the same place. He saw us, called us out… Max ran.”
I frown. “You never said anything.”
Eli gives a small, almost sheepish shrug.
“Didn’t really want to. It was ugly for a while.
Coach felt blindsided, Max thought he’d lose everything, and I was stuck in the middle trying to fix it all.
We spent weeks not talking, both of us miserable, until Coach finally said he didn’t care who I dated—as long as I didn’t let it mess with my game.
Well, he didn’t say all that, but you get it. ”
I stare at him, trying to picture it—the same kind of fallout, the same kind of fear—and realize how close it sounds to where I am now.
Eli exhales slowly, the edge of a smile ghosting across his face. “It took time, but we figured it out. The world didn’t end. People adjusted. And now? Coach makes bad dad jokes about us at team dinners.”
He looks at me again, softer now. “The noise dies down, Todd. It always does. People get tired of caring about someone else’s business. What doesn’t fade is you—the player, the person. That’s what people remember when the dust settles.”
He pushes off the dresser and steps closer, his tone quiet but sure.
“You’re a damn good player, and you’re a better guy than half the ones chirping online.
Don’t let this make you smaller. It’s what they want.
You’re allowed to still love him. You’re allowed to still want to be the best captain you can be.
Those things don’t cancel each other out. ”
The room is silent for a long moment, just the hum of the heater and the sound of Luke crunching chips again because he can’t handle tension for more than ten seconds.
“Translation,” Luke says finally, gesturing with the bag. “Ignore the idiots, keep playing, kiss the boy later.”
Daniel groans. “Pretty sure that’s not what Eli said.”
“Close enough,” Peter mutters, grinning.
Eli shakes his head, smiling despite himself. “What I meant is—this doesn’t define you. You get to decide what happens next. Not the internet. Not the headlines. You.”
His words hit hard. Because they sound like the thing I’ve been waiting for someone to say since the morning that photo blew up—that I still have a choice in who I am. Maybe my dad is wrong.
I nod slowly, throat tight. “Thanks, man.”
Eli pats my shoulder once. “Anytime, Shawsy.”
The quiet stretches again until Peter claps his hands once. “Okay, pep talk’s over. Now somebody tell him to shower. The smell of heartbreak’s getting aggressive.”
Luke perks up instantly. “I volunteer as tribute. No one scrubs a back like I do.”
“Absolutely not,” Daniel says, deadpan.
Luke winks. “Offer’s on the table, Captain. Don’t say I never cared.”
Peter throws a pillow at him; it misses by a mile. Laughter breaks the tension, filling the small dorm with warmth.
For the first time in weeks, I let myself sink into it—the noise, the normal, the reminder that I’m still part of something that doesn’t care about labels or headlines. That they aren’t like my dad.
When the laughter fades, I push myself up from the bed. My body protests like I’ve been carrying a hundred pounds of regret on my shoulders—and maybe I have.
“I’m gonna—uh…” I motion vaguely toward the bathroom. “Take that shower before Luke makes good on his threat.”
“Hey,” Luke calls after me, grinning, “offer’s always open, Captain!”
“Don’t even think about it,” Daniel mutters. “Logan would skin you alive.”
Their voices blur behind me as I step into the narrow dorm bathroom. The mirror catches my reflection, and for a second, I barely recognize the guy staring back—dark circles, overgrown scruff, dull eyes. I look like someone who’s been trying not to exist.
I twist the faucet. The pipes groan, then release a rush of water that steams up the small space.
When I step under it, the heat hits like something alive, scalding at first, then grounding.
The water beats against my skin, washing away the stale sweat, the smell of takeout, the ghost of every night I spent avoiding myself.
It doesn’t fix everything—doesn’t make my dad’s voice disappear or erase the ache that still lives in my chest—but it’s a start.
By the time I towel off and pull on clean clothes, my hands have stopped shaking. The fog in my head has thinned enough that I can breathe without it hurting.
When I step back into the room, Peter’s sprawled on his bed, Luke and Daniel are arguing about something stupid, and Eli is quietly scrolling his phone. It looks so normal that my chest aches a little.
Peter glances up. “Holy shit, he’s human again.”
Luke lifts a chip in mock salute. “You clean up nice, Captain. Knew you had it in you.”
I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth pulls upward anyway. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Anytime, sweetheart,” Luke fires back.
The laughter that follows is easy, unforced. It fills the space between us and pushes out the quiet that’s been living in my chest since everything fell apart. I might have it in me to face the team…and maybe even Logan.
By the time the others leave a few hours later, the room’s quiet again. Luke’s laughter still echoes faintly down the hall, Daniel’s sarcasm trailing after it. Eli gave me one last nod before he left, the kind that said you’re gonna be okay without needing to put it into words.
Peter’s still here, stretched out on his bed with his headphones around his neck, pretending to scroll through something on his phone. The silence isn’t awkward—it’s comfortable, like we’ve been through too many early practices and late-night study sessions to need to fill it.
I drop onto my own bed. My head feels clearer. My chest doesn’t.
Peter glances up. “You look human now.”
“Low bar,” I say, my voice rough.
He snorts. “Yeah, well, you were circling the drain there for a bit.”
I laugh once, weakly, then stare down at my hands. “You have no idea.”
He sits up a little, expression softening. “Hey… you don’t have to talk about it, but if you want to—I’m here.”
I swallow hard. “When I went home…after… my dad told me it’s just a phase.”
The words feel heavier saying them out loud, like they’ve been sitting in my throat for days waiting to hurt all over again.
Peter blinks, then sits up straight. “He said that to you?”
“Yeah.” I force a laugh that sounds more like a choke. “Said I was basically just experimenting. That I’d ‘see clearer once I got my head on straight.’”
Peter’s jaw tightens. “Jesus Christ.”
“I mean…” I trail off, staring at the floor. “I knew he wasn’t gonna throw a parade or anything, but—he’s my dad. I thought he’d at least try to understand.”
Peter’s quiet for a beat, and then he exhales sharply. “That’s not okay, man. I don’t care if he’s your dad or the fucking Pope, that’s not okay.”
I look up, startled by the edge in his voice.
He shakes his head. “You tell someone you love them, and then you turn around and call who they are a phase? No. That’s coward shit.”
The bluntness almost makes me laugh, but my throat’s too tight.
Peter leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Listen to me. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t break anything. You’re still the same guy you’ve always been. And if he can’t see that, that’s on him—not you.”
I swallow, blinking hard. “You really think that?”
“I know that.” He meets my eyes, steady and sure. “My brother came out when we were teenagers. Mom cried for a week, and Dad just… didn’t get it. But you know what? He learned. Because that’s what you do when you actually give a damn about someone. You learn.”
I let out a slow breath.
Peter leans back against the wall, still watching me. “You don’t owe your dad an explanation for existing. You don’t need to prove to him—or anyone—that you’re the same guy. Who you like is your business. You’re just done pretending for everyone else. And that’s okay.”
Something cracks open in my chest at that. Not a break—more like air getting into a place that’s been sealed off too long.
I drag a hand over my face, trying to hide the way my eyes sting. “You’re a good guy, you know that?”
“Don’t tell Daniel that,” he says, deadpan. “He’ll want to braid friendship bracelets or some shit.”
That pulls a real laugh out of me, one that actually feels human.
Peter grins. “There it is. Thought I lost you for a second.”
I shake my head, still smiling, even though my throat aches. “You didn’t.”
Silence falls between us again. Peter going back to scrolling through his phone.
I clear my throat, and he glances up expectantly. “Thanks, man. For—” I shrug, unable to find the right words. “You’ve been great.”
Peter waves it off. “You’d do the same for me.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But I don’t think I’d be half as good at it.”
He tilts his head. “Yeah, well, newsflash—you don’t win points for suffering in silence. Let people show up for you, dumbass.” He yawns, setting his phone aside. “Get some sleep, Captain. Tomorrow’s practice is gonna suck enough without you looking like a corpse.”
I huff out a small laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Yeah.”
He kicks off his shoes and flops back on his bed, already half-asleep before I can say anything else. The lamp on my nightstand throws a dull glow across the room, catching on the clutter, the empty takeout boxes, the quiet mess that’s still my life.
I lie back, staring up at the ceiling. The laughter from random students returning in the hall fades. The hum of the heater fills the space Peter’s silence leaves behind.
My phone sits on the nightstand beside me, screen dark, but I can feel it there—like it’s waiting. Logan’s last text still unanswered.
I miss you.
Three words, sent almost four days ago, that shouldn’t feel this heavy, but they do.
I reach for the phone. My thumb hovers over the screen, but I can’t bring myself to unlock it. Not tonight.
Instead, I roll onto my side, facing the wall, and let the quiet press down until it’s almost a comfort.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll be strong enough to answer him. Maybe not. But either way, I’ll have to face him.